his fear wasn’t lost on them. it never was. how could it be when - for but a second - ren had tried to withstand the full weight of his burdens, understand his psyche by reading his emotional wavelength. but jaune wasn’t like ren, he didn’t have the natural ability to ignore his turmoil whenever he wanted to, he had to live with the crushing weight of the guilt, the anguish, and the dread of coming back to continuous torture, all the while having to fight against those he held most dear. it would have been exhausting, ren wasn’t sure they would have managed to hold out as long, had their roles been reversed. he might have witnessed unspeakable things and understood deafening truths but ren had only known a fraction of that understanding and it had overwhelmed them.

ren understood that the weight of choosing to remain on their side came with consequences. they had been fighting for years over this particular argument for years, and they would be dealing with the repercussions of it for years to come they were sure. after all … jaune had wanted to die. the thought alone was heartbreaking, brought ren’s mind to a place they never wanted to return to. there was no guarantee that just because he was with them now that he still didn’t feel like that, the trauma would never go away, jaune wasn’t the same person anymore. ren had come to grips with that, because they had to. they were the one that asked jaune to do what it took to stay alive, and they’d still gone against his wishes to end his suffering because … because ren was selfish. they were still too selfish to let him go.

if ren was to get adjusted to this then they needed to be adaptable. there was no telling what kind of training, what kind of torture jaune had to withstand when he was in salem’s grip, the results of which had already been made painfully clear. he still had an aura, and ren could still recognise his presence with their eyes closed. it was like they could feel that trained malicious intent just barely brushing against their neck but they held fast to a posture that was almost casual as they tended to the pan, the only sign they were preparing to defend themselves an increased grip on metal spatula. to show their back to him in any capacity went against their survivalist instincts, but they needed to trust in him, to believe that part of jaune, however small, still remained in tact.

dragon released the breath they’d been holding in their lungs when jaune collides with a chair, pausing for a second, almost artfully pretending they had only just noticed him. he’d been so quiet, a far cry from jaune’s fighting style prior to his abduction. if ren had been any less alert they wouldn’t have detected him at all.   ‘   i’m really here,   ’   ren vowed. they’d heard the mess in the bathroom, made them feel guilty almost for what they’d been doing. the dragon had kept on going despite knowing jaune might not appreciate, might not want what they’d been preparing for him after breakfast   (   noon more like   )   but they’d already started the dish and decided to finish it anyway. it wasn’t as if they hadn’t cooked yesterday too, hoping that jaune might wake sooner.    ‘   don’t force yourself.   ’   ren murmured quietly, as they slowly turned off the stove, a plate of artfully crafted chocolate crepes - learned under the delicate tutelage of isabelle herself - set in front of him.

                   prove it sits on the tip of his tongue - he’s only been away from her what felt like a few hours, he wonders how long it’s going to take for him to remember that this is real and actually believe himself. part of him thinks he never will - he’s prepared for the other boot to drop, for the facade to fall, and for her to be there, mocking his inability to tell a fairy tale from the grim, harsh reality of the world. 

              he smells whatever it is ren is making. watches and they willfully present their back to him once again to turn off the stove - tyrian would claim this unwise, taunt him for not taking the moment for his advantage and striking here and now. jaune physically has to quell the urge to move, clenching one of his hands into a fist just for a brief moment while ren prepares food for him. 

              crepes. his mother. isabelle. early mornings, helping her make batter. asking, “can i lick the spoon?” breakfast with all his siblings but she always saved the last two for him. does she know? does she know what he’s done? what he’s become? did she mourn? where is she? salem will know he’s gone and she’ll find her. jaune put her in danger. where is she? 

             “m-mom...” a murmur, his entire life sucked down to a singular pinpoint so quickly it makes him stumble backward, hand pressed against his forehead, over his hallow eye-socket. he only stops when there’s a wall behind him, having knocked over a small table in the process but he hasn’t seemed to notice.

                he’s had this dream, before. 

               but, it feels different, this time. normally, he can’t speak. his throat won’t open, his mouth won’t form the words he so desperately wants to tell her. like a metaphorical monster that he just can’t seem to run fast enough to escape. or the tunnel, the doorway, the room that keeps getting further and further away no matter how far your legs carry you. 

               this time, she is…tangible. he can feel the weight of her against his back, smell the gentle breeze she carries with her - steel, dust powder, and lilacs. 

              “pyrrha,” his chest aches with what he wants to say and yet he doesn’t think he should. this moment shouldn’t be about him, right? desperately trying to make amends for something he couldn’t have fixed to begin with seemed selfish. if this really is her, even in his dream, she deserves to breathe. to exist without a reminder she gave up everything, for nothing. 

              “pyrrha i…” i’m sorry. i wish i could change this. it should have been me. i can’t do this alone. none of it presses past lips. instead, he raises both hands, holding onto the arms around his shoulders, and inhales gently.

                     “w-what?” hand comes up to run through his hair almost instinctively, expecting there to be a ‘but’ to neptune’s statement because he’s certainly not calling him attractive and he’s certainly not addressing jaune face-to-face. they aren’t at beacon anymore but…well, you can’t really shake off awkwardness, you just grow into it. he’s still growing into his own. a flush pulls at his cheeks, a hand reaching behind to scratch along the back of his head in a sheepish manner.

                   he’s doing it again. that thing where you stare off into the middle distance, unable to focus gaze on any one thing as he tries to mull over his thoughts. nothing in particular, just...a lot. only home two days from their latest missions, and jaune always wonders if they did enough. if he did enough. from the simplest escort missions to intense raiding and liberation plans, jaune overthinks. he thinks of five plans, and plans for backup when they each individually fail. 

                 they did well, this time. well enough there were no causalities when relocating a small village to a safer place deep in the mountains. but there could have been. he was sloppy. ren was there to catch him. like always. he should be better, thought. better than yesterday, right?

               dragon catches him deep in thought and the soft affection comes as a stop in the train of it. he recalls that perhaps, they’re just supposed to be stronger together. needing someone wasn’t the worst thing to happen to him, but rather the best.